


Unexpected Visitors

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Building a History Together: Marriage and Children [9]
Category: Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Charming Victorian, Coitus Interruptus, F/M, Fluff with depth, French Kissing, Front hall flirting, Insatiable Newlyweds, Inspired by Music, Intimacy, Literary Banter, Music room rendezvous, Passion vs Propriety, Pillow Talk, Resolved Sexual Tension, Seductress!Marian, Sexual Experimentation, Spooning, Trading Innuendos, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newlyweds Harold Hill and Marian Paroo always enjoy their long Saturdays alone together at home. But what happens when Mayor and Mrs. Shinn unexpectedly come calling in the midst of one of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whistle a Happy Tune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CarolinaNadeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolinaNadeau/gifts).



> A birthday present for the lovely and talented CarolinaNadeau! This was originally supposed to be a simple and fluffy vignette for Reflections, but as often happens, it has developed into a full-blown fic – there will be at least two more chapters to come after this one. And rest assured this will be a fun and fluffy fic, not an angsty one.

“Oh, Harold!”

This was a phrase Marian Paroo Hill said quite often. The majority of the time, it was said in exasperation, though good-natured rather than annoyed. But in the three months since the librarian and music professor had married, it was increasingly said in the most intimate of situations, sometimes in panting sighs, sometimes in ecstatic shouts, always a welcome sound to Harold’s ears no matter what the tone and circumstance.

This snowy Saturday afternoon in early March 1913 was no exception. As husband and wife had spent a good deal of the morning cozily wrapped together beneath the warm goose-down quilt of their bed, Harold had not only coaxed a steady volley of this phrase from his dear little librarian, she had enthusiastically reciprocated by wringing her name from his lips over and over again with the clever ministrations of her hands, mouth and tongue.

While the former charlatan unabashedly gloried in what a wonderful influence he’d been on bringing out the strait-laced librarian’s passionate nature, he had to laugh when he realized just how much her staunch Protestant work ethic was rubbing off him in return. Although both the music emporium and the library would not open again on Saturdays until the spring, Harold did not whisk his wife right back to bed after their rumbling stomachs had driven them down to the kitchen in search of lunch. Instead, when Marian curled up with _Pride and Prejudice_ on the parlor sofa, he seized the opportunity to withdraw to the music room to peruse several new scores he’d been meaning to look at, but hadn’t had the time to review.

However, Harold hadn’t changed that much. Though it was a crucial part of his profession, analyzing scores was one of his least favorite tasks, right down there with routine paperwork. He found music on the printed page tedious and, at times, downright intimidating. Despite all that he’d learned from Marian and various books about music theory, he was never going to be a virtuoso in this department, and though he never hesitated to seek help from his far more gifted wife whenever an obscure symbol or complex chord progression stumped him, his lack of proficiency was an uncomfortable reminder of just how second-rate of a music professor he really was. He was like the immigrant who’d come to America when he was too old, able to learn just enough English to passably eke out a living, but doomed to speak the language brokenly and with a heavy accent for the rest of his life.

And it certainly didn’t help matters that making love all morning had left him in a pleasantly languid stupor. Harold had barely gazed at the first two measures of Schubert’s _Unfinished Symphony_ before his eyes started to glaze over. In search of more interesting sights, they soon wandered to the window, where they fixed themselves on the fat, puffy snowflakes that drifted gracefully down to the ground. Yet as much as he shied away from work, music was permanently ingrained in his soul. The delicate buoyancy of the crystalline precipitation reminded him of Vivaldi’s elegant _Four Seasons_ , and it wasn’t long before the music professor was whistling softly in tune with the falling snow.

XXX

Similarly enchanted by the snowfall, Marian had long since abandoned her novel and was now reclining on the bay-window seat, staring dreamily outside.  She didn’t normally spend her leisure time indulging in such spectacular indolence, but these past few weeks, she found herself lapsing into uncharacteristic spells of idleness whenever she didn’t have any pressing pursuits that occupied her time.  The librarian attributed this change to the newness of her marriage and her husband’s decadent influence.  Though the bombastic music professor was no less given to inactivity than she was, he was quite content to while away several hours in bed with her, even when they weren’t making love.  Sometimes they merely talked or even dozed off for long stretches, and Marian wouldn’t have traded any of those languid hours in Harold’s arms for all the diligent industry in the world.  Though she was a bit bewildered by the increasing frequency of these aberrant stupors when she wasn’t in her husband’s embrace, she was quite content to revel in them.

If she and Harold hadn’t just spent all morning making love, she would have gone right to the music room not long after she heard him merrily whistling the third movement of Vivaldi’s _Autumn_ symphony.  It was quite something, how beautifully he whistled.  Not only did he produce every note in clear and pitch-perfect tones, his tremolos were absolutely flawless.

Whistling was never something Marian could do very well, so she was quite in awe of Harold’s skill.  It somehow seemed perfectly fitting that the man who was so good with his mouth when it came to both talking and _not_ talking could whistle with as much elegant ease as he spoke or made love.  Still feeling the marks that wonderful mouth had just recently left on her neck, breasts, and the inside of her thighs, the librarian could not remain seated any longer, and made her way to the music room.

While Marian could easily admit to herself that her purpose in disturbing Harold was to make love to him, and though she had become much bolder about indicating her desire since their wedding night, she paused at the threshold of the door, not wanting to interrupt his beautiful rendition of Vivaldi’s _Autumn_.  Fortunately, there was no need to conceal herself.  Even though the door was wide open, Harold’s back was to her, and he was gazing out the window just as lazily as she’d been doing in the parlor.  Marian suppressed a laugh – so much for analyzing scores!

But as ever, the music professor’s sharp senses must have caught wind of her presence, for as soon as he wound up the symphony with one final trill, he turned to face her with an impish gaze and wide grin that held no trace of surprise.

“How do you do that?” Marian asked wonderingly, before he could tease her for attempting to sneak up on him.

Harold winked at her.  “As I said before, it’s quite simple.  You simply think the tune up here… ”  He bounded across the room until his lips were inches from hers.  “ … and it comes out clearly here.”

Marian laughed and ducked out of his embrace before he could kiss her.  Even after three months of the most passionate of marriages, she still enjoyed making him chase her a bit.  “Is that so, _Mister_ Hill?  Then why is _this_ the only whistle I can do – ”  Placing her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, she let out a piercing blast.

The music professor winced and rubbed his right ear, which had gotten the brunt of the onslaught.  “Ye gods, as Zaneeta would say!  That packs quite a punch.”

“That’s my ‘librarian whistle’ to quiet a noisy room,” she said with a smirk.  “Used only as a last resort, of course,” she primly added.

Harold chuckled.  “I’m lucky you never used it on me last summer!”

“I didn’t think of it at the time,” Marian admitted sheepishly.

Not only was it a measure of just how much she had grown to trust the dashing former charlatan that she could openly acknowledge her vulnerability, Harold demonstrated just how protective he had become of her finer feelings in return by not mocking her about such a stunning lapse of poise.

Still, his eyes did twinkle with self-satisfied mirth as he approached the librarian and slid his arm around her waist.  “Well, what say I teach you how to whistle like I do?  Expand your repertoire a bit, as you’ve expanded mine.”

Giving him that broad beam of approbation she knew warmed his insides, Marian replied, “I’d like that very much.”

At that, Harold immediately became the serious instructor, meticulously modeling how she should shape her lips.  Once he was satisfied with her form, she attempted a whistle.  But all that came out was a rush of air.

“Now hold on a minute – you’re getting too far ahead of yourself,” her husband chided with a chuckle.  “The correct pucker of one’s lips is only one part of a successful whistle.”

Marian couldn’t resist pointing out, “So much for no one having to develop an elaborate technique for whistling!”

He gave her a crooked grin.  “I never said the technique was elaborate.  It’s actually a lot simpler than it seems, once you get the hang of it.”

“But it isn’t effortless,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him.  “So what am I missing?”

“It’s all in the way the air moves over your tongue,” he said promptly.  “I can’t really demonstrate with my lips puckered.  But why don’t you try blowing as you move your tongue back and forward in your mouth.”

Marian did just that, and was pleasantly surprised when she produced a weak but warbling whistle.  Delighted, she experimented with different movements of her tongue, as well as increasing and decreasing the force of her exhalations, and was further gratified when her whistle grew louder and clearer.  It was nothing compared to her husband’s songbird trill, of course, but she had made a great deal of progress in a very short time.

“See, what did I tell you?” Harold said with a triumphant grin.  “You’ll be whistling Vivaldi just as beautifully as me in no time at all!”

“It is a lot easier than learning how to play an instrument,” she conceded, too thrilled with her newfound ability to take that charming ego of his down a peg.  “But I shall still have to practice quite awhile to catch up to you.  After all, practice makes perfection, as Mrs. Shinn likes to say.”

But from the heated look in Harold’s eyes, it was clear he’d lost all interest in the subject, even as he said, “If you need any additional tutoring on how to properly move your tongue, I’d be more than happy to share my secrets… ”

He was very close to Marian now, and all his talking about open mouths and moving tongues had already excited her.  It was really quite something, second only to his talent for whistling, the way Harold could get her all hot and bothered over what started as the most benign of conversations.

“Yeah,” Harold purred in his low, velvety voice, “it also greatly helps if you wet your lips a little bit… ”  Then his mouth was on hers, and his tongue was in her mouth, and the conversation turned into something else entirely.

Marian thoroughly enjoyed the ministrations of her husband’s tongue, first as they kissed, and then as they made their way to their bedroom and undressed.  That talented mouth of his avidly and skillfully worked its way down the length of her naked body, and after much tantalizing that increased both her longing and frustration, finally settled in between her thighs in earnest. Winding her fingers in Harold’s hair, she sighed and then moaned and then screamed as he brought her to one climax after another, and she had lost count of the number of times she’d cried out in ecstasy before he finally raised his head from her lap.

As Harold drew her into his arms and covered her panting lips with soft kisses, Marian couldn’t help wondering exactly where and how he had learned to do all these delectable things.  Even if she’d been brave enough to ask him such a dicey question, he probably would have grinned and simply retorted “practice.”  And she would have believed it, as she had amassed quite a bit of knowledge after a few months of practice, herself.  With that in mind, she rolled her husband onto his back and eagerly reciprocated everything he had just given her, though he only allowed her to bring him to the brink of climax before gently moving her head from his lap – or at least, as gently as he possibly could, given the passionate intensity of their lovemaking – and drawing her body up to cover his.

Marian expected Harold to roll her beneath him, as he usually did.  But when he grasped her by the hips and thrust up against her with a pleading groan, she knew exactly what he wanted.  And she gave it to him without the slightest maidenly hesitancy, taking him in with a loud and delighted moan.  Ever since that heated night in January, when she’d first undressed her husband below the belt and moved on top of him, she discovered just how delightful it could be to take the lead from time to time.  Whenever she displayed such initiative, Harold was more than happy to cede control of their embrace to her.  But on this occasion, he was so keen to go that it was all she could do to hold on breathlessly as he set the pace, despite her position.  Not that Marian minded in the least, as she was similarly wound up, coupling just as quickly and frantically with him in return.

So it wasn’t long before husband and wife were lying, gasping and exhilarated, in each other’s arms.  As usual, Harold recovered his breath quicker than she did, and began to whistle happily.  As soon as Marian recognized the jaunty and risqué tune, _I Love My Wife But Oh You Kid!_ , she swatted his arm.

“Oh, Harold!” she admonished in a voice that was far more scandalized than she truly felt.

Undaunted, he started singing, “When poor Jonesy left the house each morning, they would sit and spoon.  Tell your tootsie who you love, then softly he would croon: I love, I love, I love my wife, but, oh you kid – ”

Though Marian couldn’t help bursting into laughter at Harold’s sheer cheek, she wasn’t about to let him get the better of her.  So she stopped her husband’s provocative and impertinent mouth the best way she knew how – by covering it with her own for a long, deep and hungry kiss.


	2. Intimacy Interruptus

“I’m going to miss our long Saturdays alone together when spring comes,” Marian said wistfully.

Harold’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t often that his wife broke the silence after they’d fallen into one of their dreamy dozes, let alone made such bare-faced admissions after they’d finished making love. Normally, her forthright confession would have sent his pulse racing, and he would have lost no time passionately demonstrating his appreciation of her stark honesty. But as the normally energetic music professor was still somewhat addled with slumber, he tightened his arms around his wife and pressed a warm kiss to her disheveled tresses.

“Well,” he purred reassuringly as he gazed at the snow falling outside, “from the looks of things, spring won’t be coming to River City for quite awhile!”

Marian turned in his arms, and he shivered pleasantly as her naked hips brushed against him and her heavy-lidded, come-hither eyes met his. “Well,” she murmured impishly, “as the poem says:

_Give me a cottage for my home_  
_And a rich old cypress vine,_  
_Removed from the world with its sin and care_  
_And the tattling of many tongues._  
_Love alone shall guide us when we are there –_  
_And oh, the tranquil hours we’ll spend,_  
_Never wishing that others may see!_

By now, Harold was more than awake. He immediately rolled the librarian beneath him, and when her legs parted to welcome his advances, he was both stunned and delighted to discover that she was just as aroused as he was. “You little vixen,” he groaned approvingly as he slid easily into her.

Marian was too far gone to so much as pretend she was scandalized. “Kiss me, Harold,” she demanded in between gasps. “ _Hard_.”

Harold happily complied, his mouth crashing down on hers as the two of them frantically moved together. After that, he was just as lost to bliss as she was. At some point, the besotted music professor became dimly aware of a shrill ringing somewhere in the distance, but as Marian was the only one who existed to him in this moment, he did not begin to realize what was happening until his wife had pushed him off of her and gasped, “Oh, good heavens – we’ve got company!”

Harold blinked in a haze of pleasure and confusion. “Company?” he echoed dumbly. Then it finally hit him that the doorbell was ringing. “Oh, _company_!” Still lost in the primal instincts honed during years of illicit philandering, he yanked the goose-down quilt up to cover the two of them and cradled his wife protectively in his arms.

Now it was Marian’s turn to be bewildered. “Harold, what are you doing?” she sputtered. But then she laughed in understanding. “Oh darling, they’re still at the _door_!”

Indeed, no irate fathers, cuckolded husbands or aggrieved fiancés had burst into their bedroom with pitchforks or torches and, as the shrill ringing continued, Harold remembered that he was a legally married man and a legitimate music professor. But now that the music professor had finally recovered his wits to the fullest, it only took a single glance at his flushed and gasping wife to lose them again.

“You know, my dear little librarian,” he said in his low, velvety voice as he ran a finger up her slender arm, “there’s no law that says we _have_ to answer the door. After all, we’ve completely ignored the phone.” It had rung at least fifteen times an hour ago. Or was it longer than that? Harold never could pinpoint time with absolute certainty on their long Saturdays together.

But his observation only derailed his argument. “I know,” Marian said ruefully. “Which makes me think that if the person who called and the person at our door are one and the same, it must be important, especially if they took the trouble to come by on such a snowy day!”

However, as the librarian was still cozily ensconced in his embrace and did not seem inclined to dash out of bed and dress, the music professor wasn’t about to halt in his attempts to bring her around to his point of view. Moving his hand slowly down the length of her curves, as if they had all the time in the world, he persuasively stroked a spot on her hip that he knew to be extremely sensitive. At first, Marian rolled her eyes and giggled, but when he got to that spot, her laugh turned into a moan and she pressed closer to him. Harold grinned in triumph and let his fingers meander to even more intimate places…

But his victory was short-lived. When their visitor gave up ringing the bell and started pounding vigorously on the front door, not even his carnal urges could convince him to ignore the disturbance any longer. This unwanted intruder was _not_ going to go away, so he might as well get it over with now.

Harold sighed and slid out of bed. His dazed wife blinked up at him. “You stay here,” he said, extricating her hand from the blankets and pressing a warm kiss into her palm. “I’ll see who it is – and get rid of them right away!”

Marian was still so addled by pleasure that she giggled and nodded without protest, but her tantalizing response only irritated Harold further. He wasn’t at all annoyed at his charming wife – hell, all she had to do was tilt her head at just the right angle and he’d jump right back in bed, urgent callers be damned! – it was the visitor who apparently couldn’t take the hint at their unanswered door whom he wanted to throttle.

Throwing on the first suit he could lay his hands on, Harold did not take as much care with his hair as he normally would have under the circumstances, choosing to run his fingers through his tangled curls even though his comb was in easy reach. While it wasn’t the brightest of ideas in a town whose gossip-greedy denizens got the vapors over a few scattered hairpins, he was in such a fit of pique that he _wanted_ their rude caller to see his disheveled locks. If that didn’t spark any embarrassment, a few choice words would let them know exactly what he thought of their presumptuousness. Honestly, what could be so important that someone felt the need to bother a pair of newlyweds at home? Especially on such a stormy and blustery Saturday afternoon!

But the music professor did take an extra second or two to assess his overall appearance in the armoire’s mirror. Except for his hair, the rest of his ensemble was impeccable – or at least, passed muster for civilized company. Marian certainly wasn’t complaining. On the contrary, he saw her eying him hungrily as he knotted his bowtie.

Not daring to turn around, Harold grinned at her reflection. “I won’t even be gone five minutes,” he promised in a husky whisper, before bolting out of their bedroom and thundering down the stairs.

XXX

“Why, how-de-do, Mister Mayor?” Harold’s voice rang exuberantly through the house, as if he could not be more delighted by this unexpected turn of events.  “And Mrs. Shinn, how lovely to see you!”

Marian bolted upright in bed.  What in heaven’s name where _they_ doing here?  Of all the callers they could have been so unlucky as to receive this afternoon, the Shinns were the worst.  While her dashing music professor could have dispatched Eunice Squires, Alma Hix, Maud Dunlop, Ethel Washburn, or even her own mother with charming ease, even he would be hard-pressed to give City Hall the brush off.  And here _she_ was, still lying in bed without a stitch of clothing and reveling in her languid stupor like a naughty teenager!

The librarian frantically untangled herself from the bedcovers and hastened to her vanity.  She did not have the time to dress and set her hair to her usual impeccable standards, but if she donned a lingerie gown, splashed a little water on her face and arranged her hair in a braided chignon, she could give the impression of having been awakened from a perfectly respectable nap.  Although she was no longer frightened of her deepening intimacy with Harold or ashamed of the passion they shared behind closed doors, she was still wary about revealing even tacitly to outsiders that she and her husband had a full and active marriage, lest they have another hairpin fiasco on their hands!

After swiftly making herself presentable, Marian assessed her appearance in the armoire mirror.  Although her ensemble was slightly out of date – it would have been more appropriate to put on her smart afternoon tweed, which was the height of fashion this season – it was acceptable enough to pass muster under the circumstances.  A glance at the clock on her bedside table revealed nearly five minutes had passed since her husband loudly greeted the Shinns, and she mustn’t keep them waiting any longer.

As the librarian descended the stairs and approached the parlor, she was relieved to see that the Shinns were seated on the sofa facing away from the room’s entrance.  Always two steps ahead of everyone else, Harold had taken his favorite wingback chair, which had an excellent view of the hallway.  Although his eyes twinkled when Marian came into view, he continued chattering merrily to their visitors as she arranged her features into an expression she hoped passed for the demure and dreamy countenance of a woman who had been slumbering peacefully.  But as she eyed her husband’s noticeably rumpled locks, she was nearly derailed by the flash of irritation – along with another hot feeling she dared not contemplate in the presence of company – that swept through her.  Why couldn’t he have combed his hair more carefully?  This was ten times worse than a stray hairpin or two scattered on the carpet!

Still, Marian didn’t have the heart to be too put out by Harold’s negligence, especially as she reflected how delicious that little loose curl falling over his forehead was.  By now, the music professor knew full well that this was one of her many weaknesses when it came to him, and he shamelessly exploited it whenever he had the opportunity.  As she gazed wistfully at her handsome husband – why did the Shinns have to visit just _now_? – his grin broadened and he gestured toward her.  “Ah, what excellent timing, my dear!  I was just about to go upstairs to retrieve you.”

The Shinns both turned to face her.  “Good afternoon, Mayor and Mrs. Shinn,” Marian said with a polite smile.  As she spoke, she was gratified to hear her voice coming out both evenly and hoarsely – though only her smirking husband knew the latter phenomenon was most decidedly _not_ the result of being jolted from sleep!  “Please forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

As ever, Mayor Shinn responded to her pleasantries with a curt nod.  Mrs. Shinn, on the other hand, gazed upon her with a surprisingly solicitous and almost indulgent expression, not quite a mother’s affection for her child, but at the very least, she looked at the librarian the way a kindly old aunt would have regarded her favorite niece.  “I hope we haven’t disturbed you at a bad time, Mrs. Hill.  Professor Hill told us you were sleeping.  Unfortunately, he cannot give me what I require, or I would have asked him without bringing you into it.  You are feeling well enough for visitors, I trust?”

Naturally, there was only one possible response to such a statement.  So Marian graciously replied, “Of course, Mrs. Shinn.  I am feeling perfectly well – thank you for your concern.”  Although as she did not wish to be _too_ encouraging of a leisurely social call, she added, “I do hope the weather was not too unpleasant for traveling, and that the snow doesn’t hinder your plans for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, get on with it, Eulalie,” her husband said far more bluntly, giving a pointed glance at the window.  “Or we’ll be stuck here all afternoon!”

_Heaven forbid!_ Marian thought in alarm, her eyes snapping to Harold’s.  When he grimaced sympathetically at her in return, she found herself struggling to smother an unseemly giggle.  Fortunately, neither of the Shinns noticed this little exchange between the librarian and music professor, as Mrs. Shinn was now glaring at her husband, who was still glowering at the steady flow of precipitation outside.

“What can I help you with, Mrs. Shinn?” Marian briskly but courteously inquired.

Mrs. Shinn turned back to her with a grateful smile.  “I wish to pick up those books we discussed at last week’s Events Committee meeting.”

Mayor Shinn harrumphed and continued staring out the window.  Over Mrs. Shinn’s shoulder, Harold gave the librarian another grimace, this time impishly.  That was bad enough, but when his eyes turned smoldering, Marian completely lost the thread of the conversation.  “Books?”

“Yes, the books for the St. Patrick’s Day celebration,” Mrs. Shinn repeated, reverting to her usual autocratic tone.  “You _do_ remember, I trust?”

As Harold coughed suspiciously and clamped his hand over his mouth, Marian immediately snapped out of her daze.  “Oh yes, of course!  How silly of me to forget.”  How _could_ she have forgotten, especially since it had been all her husband’s doing in the first place?  Wishing to honor his mother-in-law, the music professor had started secretly preparing the boys’ band to put on a St. Patrick’s Day parade, slated to march down the road past Mrs. Paroo’s house bright and early on the morning of the holiday.  When the Events Committee had caught wind of his scheme, they loved the idea so much that they expanded it into a town-wide festival of music, food and celebration.  Of course, all this flurry of activity could no longer be kept secret, and Marian’s mother had eagerly joined in the preparations along with the other ladies.  However, in deference to Harold’s original intentions, the Events Committee was also planning a lovely little surprise or two for the matron, and the librarian had mentioned at their last meeting that she had some books in her personal collection about Ireland they might find helpful in this regard.

Her expression brightening again, Mrs. Shinn nodded.  “I know you promised to bring the books to our next meeting, but since we will most likely be snowed in for the next few days, I thought it would be the perfect time to read through them all.”

Mayor Shinn turned to face the music professor and librarian with a frown.  “Yes, she tried calling earlier to let you know she would be dropping by, but no one answered the phone.  It was snowing pretty hard by the time she made up her mind to chance a visit anyway, so she dragged _me_ all the way out here with her!”

Though Marian would rather have walked barefoot over hot coals – or done anything else that was as equally as painful and dramatic – than give the slightest suspicion as to just why no one in the Hill household saw fit to pick up the ringing phone, it was impossible for her to stifle the deep blush that warmed her cheeks at Mayor Shinn’s observation.

Like any good white knight, Harold came to her rescue right away.  “Yes, Marian was sound asleep,” he said smoothly, moving forward to stand slightly in front of his tongue-tied wife.  “Meanwhile, I was in the music room practicing my trumpet, which completely drowned out the phone _and_ the doorbell!”

Fortunately, the incongruity of her deep sleep and his loud trumpet practicing went unquestioned by Mrs. Shinn, though the corners of Mayor Shinn’s lips twitched briefly before he harrumphed and turned back toward the window.  “Well, for a man who’s so enthusiastic about collecting doorbells, you ought to examine the tonal quality of your own,” he grumbled wryly.

Marian went from being excruciatingly embarrassed to completely confused.  Since when did Harold collect doorbells?

“It might just be time for a repair,” the music professor nonchalantly agreed, before turning to Mrs. Shinn.  “Now, about those books – I have no doubt Marian can fetch them for you right away.”

“Yes, certainly,” the librarian agreed, perhaps a little _too_ enthusiastically.  “I’ll be just a moment!”  Relieved to escape the inquisition that Mayor Shinn had unknowingly put in motion – Mrs. Shinn was starting to look increasingly puzzled as she pondered Harold’s alibi – Marian sped off to the music room.

But when she opened the door, the sight waiting to greet her only compounded her disconcertment.  As she and Harold hadn’t expected company today, neither of them had any qualms about undressing each other in the music room.  Not only was Harold’s bowtie strewn haphazardly over the seat of the wingback chair, her boots, stockings _and_ garters were lying in a crumpled heap by the piano.  Marian hastened to gather the incriminating articles of clothing and, not having anywhere else she could conceal them, stowed them in the seat of the piano bench.  It was a good thing she’d acted so swiftly, for no sooner than she had lowered the lid, the librarian was startled by a loud _ahem!_ behind her.

Marian whirled around to see Mrs. Shinn standing in the doorway, looking oddly furtive.  “I forgot to mention – could you also lend me that Balzac book again? I’ve been meaning to check it out from the library, but I can never seem to find the time to stop by.”

The librarian repressed a smile as she nodded her assent.  Couldn’t find the gumption, was more likely.  While Mrs. Shinn had developed a keen appreciation of the classics, Balzac in particular, she did not like to advertise her fondness for an author with a reputation for being a libertine too openly in front of her husband.

But as it turned out, it wasn’t her taste in literature that Mayor Shinn took issue with, at least not on this particular occasion.  “Eulalie,” his querulous voice boomed from the parlor, “you might just as well have asked for Balzac up front with the others and saved us a few extra minutes!”

Now it was Mrs. Shinn’s turn to whirl around.  “Oh now really, George!”

“Well, whatever you’re up to with the librarian, get on with it all night, before we get snowed in!” There was an awkward pause, and Marian heard Harold cough again. “…Yes,” the mayor maintained.

Mrs. Shinn rolled her eyes. “ _Husbands_ ,” she sniffed.

Marian couldn’t help giggling at that. Coming from the stately mayor’s wife, that was quite the rebuke! Mrs. Shinn would never have done anything as unseemly as giggle in return, but she did deign to share a conspiratorial smile with the librarian before returning to the parlor.

Alone once more, Marian gathered the volumes as quickly as possible, lest Mrs. Shinn come to her with yet another book request. The less time she lingered in the music room, the better, as she couldn’t be entirely sure there weren’t any other items of clothing – or undergarments! – scattered about.

But the librarian wasn’t out of the woods just yet. When she marched into the parlor and handed Mrs. Shinn the books, the august lady leafed through them and asked, “Where’s Balzac?”

Mortified at having forgotten the volume, especially after all the fuss about it, Marian immediately apologized and hastened back to the music room. Not only was Harold chuckling openly, both Mayor _and_ Mrs. Shinn’s mouths were twitching. Chagrined by the ridiculously addled spectacle she’d just made of herself, the librarian gathered every single book by Honoré de Balzac that she possessed and triumphantly presented them all to the mayor’s wife. Perhaps this was a tad spiteful of her, but when Mrs. Shinn’s eyes glowed with delight, the librarian gave her a warm smile, as if she’d meant this ostentatious gesture as the friendliest of compliments.

Although Harold’s eyes continued to gleam wickedly at her as they escorted their visitors to the door, Marian was relieved that both Mayor and Mrs. Shinn no longer seemed to be pondering – or laughing at – her odd behavior. As they stepped out onto the front porch, the mayor was too busy surveying with doleful eyes all the snow now blanketing the walkways and sidewalks, while his wife continued to gaze avidly at her pile of books.

Mayor Shinn elbowed her. “Eulalie, put those eyes in your bag and face your books front! You’ll go flying into a snowdrift if you don’t.”

“Oh, George,” she said crossly, but did as he demanded before taking his proffered arm.

“Safe travels!” Harold called out gaily, giving his own wife a salacious wink. But after the Shinns bade the Hills farewell in return, it was Marian who took the liberty of reaching out and closing the front door.


	3. Return to Shangri-La

_No man is an island,_  
_Entire of itself._  
 _Each is a piece of the continent,_  
 _A part of the main._  
 _~John Donne_

_I feel we are all islands –_   
_In a common sea._   
_~Anne Morrow Lindbergh_

XXX

As soon as Marian closed the front door, Harold’s first inclination was to press her up against it and finish what they’d started earlier.  Although this wasn’t the first time he’d had _that_ fantasy, he’d never been so acutely tempted by the idea of ravishing his wife against the wall that he was seriously contemplating acting on this inclination.  However, he wisely refrained from doing so.  While the prim librarian had blossomed into quite the passionate lover since their wedding night, it was only yesterday that he’d made love to her in their washroom, and she was not yet so unabashedly ravenous in her erotic appetites that he could spring a second heated tryst outside the propriety of their bedroom so soon.

But it was awfully difficult to resist.  Marian looked positively delicious in her lingerie gown, and he’d really had to work to keep the heated longing out of his expression in front of their guests.  Fortunately, Mrs. Shinn was none the wiser as to precisely what she and her husband had interrupted… although the music professor suspected Mayor Shinn might have had a gleam of a suspicion, based on the way his lips had twitched in amusement upon hearing Harold’s badly patched together alibi as to why they didn’t promptly answer the doorbell.  Not that this was an observation he’d ever share with his blushing bride, of course.

However, despite the librarian’s diffident demeanor, Harold couldn’t resist flirting with her.  “You look lovely, darling.  I haven’t seen you wear that dress in ages.”

Though his tone was laced with fond affection rather than suggestive teasing, Marian’s blush deepened.  “Oh – well, muslin is a rather thin fabric for the season.  And these kinds of gowns are passé, anyway.  Even when spring finally comes, I’ll only be able to wear it at home.”  She nervously tucked a loose curl behind her ear.  “It really wasn’t the most appropriate of ensembles for entertaining the mayor and his wife, but it was the best I could do on short notice.”

“No one could fault your ensemble for lack of decency,” Harold reassured her.  Catching sight of his own disheveled locks in the full-length mirror, he uneasily ran his fingers through the tangles.  He really ought to have combed his hair before greeting their unexpected visitors, but the hungry look Marian had given him when she’d descended the stairs was worth the disquiet he now felt.  However, when he gazed at the librarian’s reflection in the midst of his hasty ablutions and saw that her lips were twitching as if she was trying to repress a giggle, he regretted nothing at all.

But a strange awkwardness still hung between them.  Harold knew that despite her amusement, Marian was most likely too mortified to make love for at least the next several hours, and if he pushed her too hard, she would rebuff him later tonight, as well.  Thinking it best to give his wife some space, he said, “I still have those scores I need to look over, so I’ll be in the music room until dinner.”

Instead of looking relieved or grateful, as he’d expected, the librarian looked more disconcerted and even a little affronted.  But she simply bit her lip and nodded.  Turning away from him, she gave the doorknob her usual tug, checking to make sure it was locked tight against the winds, which were picking up as the snowfall began to thicken outside.

Harold sighed.  He ought to have left well enough alone, but something in him just couldn’t let this tension that was between them fester and, God forbid, grow into some kind of estrangement.  “Marian… ”

When she turned to face him again, he was stunned to see that she was smiling impishly.  “Since when did you collect doorbells, _Mister_ Hill?” she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

At first, Harold could only gape at her.  “Doorbells?”

“Mayor Shinn said we apparently need to ‘examine the tonal quality’ of ours,” she reminded him.

“Oh!” the music professor laughed as he suddenly remembered.  “When I was first canvassing door to door for the boys’ band last July, I made the mistake of knocking on _his_ door right as he was coming home.  I was doing my best to avoid running into him up to that point, you see, so I had to think very quickly to get myself out of that jam!  The first idea I seized upon was an unusual fondness for interesting doorbells. Fortunately, when Mrs. Shinn came to the door only moments into the conversation, I was able to slip away.”  He gave his wife a crooked smile.  “I had to leap over the porch railing and ended up snagging the hems of my pants on a rosebush as I made my escape, but a fly-by-night salesman can’t be too particular about his clothes if he wishes to stay out of trouble.”

Marian gave him a smile that was impish but inscrutable, as her even tone betrayed nothing. “I suppose not.”

Before the atmosphere could grow too strained and uncomfortable again – and before he did something monumentally stupid, like press her against the front door and crush her mouth with his – Harold cleared his throat. “Well. I suppose I’ll see to those scores now. See you at supper?”

Still smiling at him, the librarian gave a decorous nod, turned and went upstairs. For a moment, the music professor remained in the front hall, pondering. Although his wife’s beautiful hazel eyes had twinkled at him before she departed, it would have been awfully self-serving of him to take her look as an invitation to follow her up to the bedroom. There was amusement in her expression, nothing more. He’d better not press his luck, or he’d end up being exiled to the sofa tonight! Letting out a heavy sigh, Harold tromped into the music room and buried himself in Schubert’s _Unfinished Symphony_.

But if the music professor couldn’t concentrate even in the absence of temptation, he certainly wasn’t able to focus now. While he didn’t suppose he could blame Marian for being so reticent even after the departure of their guests, her cool, graceful retreat still stung. Although they’d already spent a good deal of the morning and afternoon making love, it somehow wasn’t enough for Harold. It wasn’t the lack of physical pleasure that frustrated him, but the sense that the intimacy between them had evaporated. His wife was already so skittish about expressing her passionate nature to its fullest, and though she’d begun to open up so beautifully in the month since the hairpin fiasco, this one ill-timed visit had set things back considerably. Scowling at the score in front of him – what idiot had deemed “unfinished” as a suitable title for this damnably longwinded piece of work? – Harold tossed it aside and turned to glare out the window.

There was a swish of skirts behind him. “So much for analyzing scores,” Marian said wryly.

Bewildered – supper wasn’t for at least another two hours yet – Harold turned to face his wife. He’d opened his mouth to say something, but the words on his tongue died as soon as he saw that Marian was wearing the ensemble that had played one of the most active roles in his fantasies during their courtship: her sky-blue Marie Antoinette gown. Not only that, her tousled blonde curls tumbled loosely around her shoulders and down her back, unfettered by so much as a single hairpin.

At first, Harold thought he’d fallen asleep and was having a particularly vivid dream. But after rubbing his eyes vigorously, Marian still stood before him, looking both shy and pleased with herself.

“What is this?” the music professor breathed, too enchanted to flirt or tease.

The delectable blush in the librarian’s cheeks deepened. “An idea I’ve had for awhile, now. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

Harold swallowed, still too stunned to guard his tongue. “And here I thought our long Saturday afternoons of making love were a thing of the past… ”

Marian looked hurt. “Do you really think I’m so heartless, Harold?”

Chiding himself inwardly for his mindless prattle, he stood and drew her into his arms. “Not at all, darling. I just don’t want our lovemaking to be a source of social embarrassment to you.” He looked shrewdly at her. “Or duty.”

Marian gazed at him with such intense, unabashed desire that he was immediately reassured that she had not come to him out of obligation. “Harold, I know you’ve dreamed about me in this gown,” she said in a throaty, come-hither voice. “I want you to tell me all about those dreams – and _show_ me.”

Harold swallowed again. “How long have _you_ dreamed about doing this, Madam Librarian?” he asked earnestly, still too beguiled to banter with her.

Her blush didn’t deepen, nor did she look away. “Ever since the night before the Halloween masque, when you kissed me the way you did at my mother’s front gate.”

Still feeling as though he were dreaming, Harold took his wife’s hand and pressed it to the front of his trousers. “Well then, you already know I was like _this_ … ”

Marian’s breath started to come faster, and she nodded.

Although Harold wanted nothing more than to urge her hand to unbuckle his belt and slip behind the fabric of his drawers, he instead lifted it to his mouth and traced her palm and then wrist with his lips. Then he twirled her around. “Dancing the minuet with you was excruciating.” He kissed her hand again and tugged her closer. As Marian gazed at him, transfixed, both his hands found her hips, and he pulled her against him. “I wanted to take you behind the bleachers, away from Ethel Toffelmier’s prying eyes… ” He kissed her, hard.

When they parted, Marian beamed impishly at him. “Would you have seduced me in the gymnasium, then?”

Harold gave her an affronted look that was half teasing, half genuine. “On the hard, cold floor? What kind of a cad do you take me for, my dear?”

Marian let out a skeptical laugh as he decorously guided her to sit on the wingback chair, which spurred him on even further. “So you doubt my honor, do you? I’m going to show you _exactly_ what I would have done, if decency had permitted… ”

Hushing the librarian up with another hard kiss, Harold knelt in front of her. As his hands both stroked her back and unlaced the already loosely-tied strings of her bodice, he bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts. Once her bodice was completely unfastened, he slid it downward, fondling and caressing and kissing her breasts until she was moaning and arching against him. As his mouth continued these heated ministrations, his hands found their way beneath the hems of her voluminous petticoats, caressing their way up her tantalizingly bare thighs. Unhindered by stockings or drawers, he stroked her heat and wetness until Marian frankly and shamelessly begged him to go further. Harold promptly obliged, slipping one and then two fingers inside of her.

Watching the exquisite play of emotions across her beautiful face as he pleasured her, he entirely forgot the game they’d been playing until Marian calmed and opened her eyes to gaze dreamily at him. As his free hand stroked her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, she said, “And that’s _all_ we would have done behind the bleachers?”

Harold grinned and nodded. “Just enough to give you something to think about on the walk home.” As one hand gently brushed a loose curl from her forehead, he withdrew the other from the inside of her thighs, and was gratified when she let out a moan of disappointment. “To _my_ home, that is.”

Marian shivered in his arms. Harold’s grin widened – once again, he had her right where he wanted her. Now, if he could only free himself from her petticoats, he could make his next move! Somehow, this kind of inconvenience never happened in dreams…

After a few more irritating and increasingly awkward moments, Harold finally managed to extricate his hand from all the damn skirts of the accursed Marie Antoinette gown. Ignoring the way his wife’s shoulders now shook with barely repressed mirth rather than unbridled desire, Harold pulled her to her feet, and as their eyes locked, he said in a low, earnest voice, “ _Our_ home, Marian. I wanted to marry you right then and there. And not just to make love to you, but to _love_ you, as you deserved.”

The librarian’s laughter at his less-than-smooth disentanglement from her clothes immediately died away. “Oh, Harold,” she breathed, her eyes glistening.

Now it was Harold’s turn to shiver. That was exactly what he was hoping she’d say. But he wasn’t quite done yet. Placing his hand on Marian’s heart, which raced beneath his touch, he continued, “ _This_ is what I wanted, what I still want, what I’ll always want. Not just this” – he bent to kiss her breasts – “or this” – his hands caressed her backside – “or even these” – he kissed her forehead and lips.

Marian just _looked_ at him, as if she wanted to say so much in return, but couldn’t even fathom where to begin. But that look was worth more to him than a million words would have been.

“It’s all right, darling,” he tenderly reassured her. “You don’t have to say or do anything in return. Let me… ”

She burst into tears.

Harold pulled her into his arms. Although he knew the librarian was too racked with sobs for him to do anything but hold her until this storm of emotion ran its course, his alarm and consternation overruled his sense. “Darling, please don’t cry,” he pleaded as she clung to him and wept. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Marian gasped through her tears. “I just – can’t help it. Like that day on the footbridge last August, when you told me just how much you loved me. I’m too Victorian, I can never seem to find the right words to tell you what you are to me in return. But maybe I can show you… ” Though her voice trembled, her hands did not as they found and unfastened his belt buckle, and then slid beneath the waistband of his drawers to stroke him. “I wanted so badly to do _this_ on our wedding night.” She knelt before him and, having freed his erection, kissed the tip of it. “And I wanted to do _this_ after our snowball fight, when you made love to me with your mouth. But it took me two whole months to work up the courage to reciprocate… ”

Harold groaned and wound his fingers gently in her curls as she took him fully in her mouth. “You’re worth waiting for a whole lot longer than two months, Marian… ”

Although he’d been waiting for the opportunity to make love to Marian in the music room ever since the first day he’d brought her home as his wife, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon after their marriage, and certainly not at her urging. But if the music professor had crafted one of his usual elaborate and erotic schemes according to how he wanted things to proceed, it never would have been this perfect. As Marian continued to love him with her mouth, caressing the scar on his side with her fingers as she did so, he told her all this and more, until tears started pouring down her cheeks again. But this time, remembering how overwhelmed he had been by his own emotions the night she first caressed that scar, Harold wasn’t frightened by them.

As he pulled Marian to her feet and reached for the fastenings of her skirts, she whispered, “I know it’s foolish of me to think such romantic things, let alone say them, but you really are my white knight, and I love you so, so much – ” And then she was kissing him just as deeply and desperately as he was kissing her, their fingers fumbling wordlessly and heedlessly in their haste to be as naked together in body as they were in spirit.

Once they had finished undressing each other, Harold spread the voluminous gowns over the carpet and laid the librarian on top of them. Normally, he would have continued to take his time, moving his hands and lips over every inch of her body before making love to her in earnest. But neither of them had the desire or restraint to draw things out any longer. As soon as the two of them tumbled into their makeshift bed, Marian pulled Harold on top of her and wrapped her legs around his hips. He was so hard and she was so wet that he was inside her in one thrust, and it didn’t take much more than that before they were both crying out in ecstasy. As they collapsed against one another, still shuddering and gasping and clinging together, Harold found Marian’s lips for a soft, sweet kiss.

When their mouths finally parted, the librarian smiled up at him. “Not a Lancelot, or an angel with wings. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Harold kissed her again, a little harder this time, and then regarded her with an impish grin as he rolled to her side and gathered her into a hug. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay the Shinns.”

Marian goggled at him. “Repay the _Shinns_? And just who was it that fulfilled not one, but _two_ of your long-held fantasies, and both at once!”

Harold reached for his dress shirt, which was dangling over the nearby ottoman, and draped it over the two of them. “Well, if it wasn’t for their unexpected visit, would we be here right now?” He gestured at the wrinkled Marie Antoinette gown, and then broadly around the music room.

Marian’s disapproving glare softened into a sheepish smile as she lightly stroked his bare chest with the tips of her fingers, leaving trails of goose bumps in her wake. “I suppose not… at least, not today.”

The music professor grinned triumphantly as he continued to tease her. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do to bring Mrs. Shinn any greater happiness – you’ve already lent her every single one of your Balzac books!”

He’d expected her to burst into scandalized laughter or swat him on the arm, but to his surprise and delight, the librarian gave him an arch look and fired back a delightfully saucy rejoinder of her own: “Yes, I would have to lend her _The Monk_ to top that gesture.”

Before Marian had time to crimson at her own boldness and retreat into maidenly embarrassment, Harold let out a hearty laugh and pressed a warm kiss into her smiling lips. “As the venerable Balzac wrote, the most virtuous women have something within them, something that is never chaste,” he said approvingly.

Even as she nestled closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, the librarian easily retorted, “He also wrote that a flow of words is a sure sign of duplicity.”

Harold chuckled and tightened his arms around her. “Then let’s _not_ talk.”

“Mmm,” Marian murmured in contented agreement, sounding halfway to dreamland already.

Stroking her bare thighs, Harold softly whistled Vivaldi’s _Autumn_ and watched the snow dance on the wind until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep them open.


End file.
